


sweetest devotion

by zoeyclarke



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Multi, One Shot, Romance, i couldn't decide who i liked her with better, nah team zoey has two hands, never written multi before so please forgive me for any awkwardness, so here's my solution, team max or team simon?, though i feel like awkwardness is a theme of this show so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeyclarke/pseuds/zoeyclarke
Summary: For the car ride back to work, they all pile into the backseat, and none of them mind that it’s a tight fit. At the same time, both Simon and Max press an affectionate kiss on either of Zoey’s temples, and they both brush aside some of her hair to do so, and they both let their hands linger there, stroking the ginger waves. She has her left hand in Simon’s and her right hand in Max’s, and they’re all so close so suddenly but it’s exhilarating, and Zoey seriously likes the concept of why pick one? Both are good. Both.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Simon Haynes/Max Richman
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	sweetest devotion

**Author's Note:**

> so there's this whole debate over team max or team simon, and i saw somewhere on tumblr "team zoey has two hands" so i took that and ran with it. full disclosure, i've never written a poly relationship before so if it comes off a bit odd, that's why. also, this is in a universe where simon was never engaged (sorry jessica!) so there's no "simon dumps jessica and goes right to zoey" crap which leaves a bad taste in my mouth. and yeah maybe they're all a bit out of character here but tbh it's hard to write characters we barely know still so i tried my best! my gratitude goes to anyone who reads this, hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> title and lyrics taken from "sweetest devotion" by adele.

Zoey thinks with logic, and it’s hard for her brain to conform in any other way. So logically, she knows, this _shouldn’t_ make sense, right? This shouldn’t be so... _right._

And yet— it is. It feels right. Zoey can’t put her finger on why, and that bothers her to no end. If only she could peel back her skin and pick apart the coding that makes up her brain, if only she could understand how and why she was programmed the way she is, if only she could understand _herself._ Brains technically do have coding, too, when she sits down and considers it. There are chemicals in the brain, serotonin and dopamine and others. But they’re nothing tangible, not like the numbers and brackets she rattles out on her keyboard at work.

All Zoey is able to determine at the moment is that Simon and Max both gift her with wonderfully excessive amounts of dopamine, delivered straight to her brain tied up in a pretty bow. She loves them both, adores them very deeply, actually, the same way she adores evenings curled on her couch with wine and takeout. Only now she doesn’t want to spend those evenings alone— she wants someone there with her. Two someones.

And Simon and Max both treasure her, trip over their heels for her, come coasting up to her desk all smiles in crisp button downs, armed with a refill of Lucky Charms from the cereal bar or a still-hot latte from Golden Gate Grind. Zoey accepts the gestures and smiles and thanks them and feels kind of bad about it. Then later, she’ll be walking back from a visit to Joan’s office and she’ll notice— because if this office has a fully private hiding place far away from all the clear glass and wandering eyes, she’s yet to find it— that Simon and Max have tangled themselves in a deep-looking conversation by the elevators. Maybe it’s not so coincidental, though, because she doesn’t _not_ notice the lingering looks they pin on each other’s backs when they return to their desks.

It’s a dreary start to the new week when Zoey decides she’s had it. On her walk to SPRQ Point this morning, she’d trudged her way through a not-so-rousing rendition of “Manic Monday” presented by several drivers stuck in traffic, but it’s left her feeling strangely peppy. So she takes aside Simon, then Max, and invites them out to lunch, her treat.

“If this is about my performance and you maybe being disappointed in it, please spare me the humiliation,” Max sighs.

Zoey takes a second to ask herself why her mind had to mull over what manner of “performance” he’s referring to. “It’s not about that,” she says. “You’ve been doing fine.”

“— like, I know you’re my superior now, but you’re also my best friend, and I’d rather associate Joan with the poor evaluations—” Max stops. “Wait. Really?”

“You’re not a bad programmer, Max,” Zoey laughs. “Anyway, um, this is— I invited Simon along, too.” She pauses there, hoping he’ll catch on.

His jaw drops. “Oh god. I’m doing _that_ bad, huh?” She prepares to yank her hair out, but then he reaches out and drops a hand on her shoulder. “Just kidding. I’m kidding.”

Little conversation is exchanged on the trip to Lombard Street Luncheon. Zoey and Simon are in the backseat of the Uber, Max awkwardly up front with the driver, and the entire time she plays with a loose thread on her sweater. Simon speaks, but only with his eyes; whenever Zoey meets them, her insides melt down and meld together. Sitting behind Max, she’s breathing in his cologne, a crisp, minty scent the name of which is just out of her memory.

Then they’re seated at a table— thankfully not a booth, because in that case Zoey isn’t sure who would’ve sat next to who— and she takes a deep breath, because she knows the next time she exhales, following the word vomit she’s about to unleash, things will most definitely not be the same between all of them.

“I... I need to get this off my chest, because now whenever I’m around you guys, I feel like I can barely breathe, and I mean that in a good way. Mostly. Um...” She wipes her palms on her thighs and tries to split direct eye contact with both men at the same time. It’s not happening, though. “I think we might be all on the same page here, hopefully. Do you— what do you two think about a... relationship?” At that point words fail her, much sooner than she’d planned on them failing her. So she resorts to flappy hand motions, primarily a gesture between the three of them shaped vaguely like a messy triangle.

And it’s weird, because these days it feels like Zoey needs to hear a song from someone in order to truly understand their deep feelings. Without a professionally choreographed musical number, she’s lost, because she has never been good at being anyone’s therapist until very recently (and even still, her skill is spotty at best). Who knows why this damn power was bestowed upon her of all people.

But Simon and Max are so, so readable right now it’s not even funny. Zoey glances from one to the other, and doesn’t see anything off-putting. Two pairs of toasty brown eyes are fixed on her, pressing into her skin like hot coals, and sweat is practically forming a waterfall down her back at this point. _God forbid you wear less than two layers for once in your life, Clarke,_ she scolds herself.

Simon is the first to talk. “Wow,” he breathes, emitting a slight whistle through his teeth as he sits back.

Max’s adorable face looks like it’s made of tissue paper with the way it’s all scrunched up in concern. “Are— are you serious, Zo?”

“Well, I _am_ known for my frequent and hilarious jokes,” Zoey quips, slowly crossing her arms over her chest. “But this time I am being one hundred percent serious. I’d say one hundred and ten, but I’m putting the cap on a hundred.”

Simon fastens his teeth on his lower lip, an action that makes her skin prickle like all her nerves have risen to the surface. “It’s— wow,” he repeats. “I mean, workplace relationships are...” He trails off, tilting his head. “It’s kind of risky, don’t you think?”

Zoey nods. “Oh yeah, absolutely. Yes. Not to mention I’m Max’s boss, and you’re technically above me. But if you think about it from a logical standpoint, which _believe me_ I have, we’d have a kind of checks and balances system in place.”

Max squints at her. “Right. And who’s in charge of Simon?”

“Nobody’s ‘in charge of’ anybody. I’m just saying, we—”

“Not gonna lie, I think I’d rather have Zoey be in charge of _me,”_ Simon hums way too innocently.

She glares at him for making an itchy blush redder than her hair appear around her suddenly-too-tight shirt collar. “Okay, just forget about the checks and balances thing. It doesn’t matter who’s bossing who!” she grumbles. It comes out louder than she intended, resulting in several nearby tables sparing them an unwanted glance.

There’s a few seconds of silence, then Max quietly ventures, “I mean, it doesn’t have to—”

“Max,” Zoey warns. Simon opens his mouth. _“Simon.”_

Their food arrives and everyone gladly digs in to their overpriced, underportioned sandwiches. While she eats, Zoey stays on edge, expecting for either guy’s mulling to develop into a song at any second. But it doesn’t happen.

After enough time passes for them to decline microwaved pie for dessert and for Zoey to inwardly grimace at the bill, a more solid reaction has evolved.

“I think... I think I’m up for it,” Max says first, surprising Zoey. She stares at him and wonders if now he’ll burst into a rowdy cover of Demi Lovato’s “Confident.” To prevent a week’s worth of lyric-googling after every musical number, Zoey has taken to listening to all kinds of songs instead of murder podcasts on Spotify, and it’s made her prone to guessing which songs could fit in with various situations and people in her life. She tries to suppress the image of Max springing up out of his chair, jumping up on the table, and leaning down to cup her face in his hands, eyes never leaving hers all while he belts out choice words such as _“I’m the boss right now”_ and _“No, you can’t make me behave”_ and— ah, shit, there she goes again with the boss thing.

“Oh,” says Zoey. “You first. Okay.”

Max stares back at her, then at Simon. “I just want to make sure you’re not... I don’t know... _scared.”_

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Zoey confirms. “But I’ve given myself a lot of time to think it over, and I really, _really_ like you guys. You’re both sweet and smart and— and _hot—”_ Zoey is bad with adjectives, but she hopes it gets her point across.

Simon drums his neatly-trimmed fingernails on the wobbly table. Zoey wants to _not_ look at his handsome hands, but she can’t _not_ do it. She loves that about him, that she can find even the smallest details about him beautiful, details that nobody would normally think to admire, like _fingernails_ of all things. But they’re seriously perfect little crescent moons, and she can’t stand it.

“Are you sure,” Simon asks, laying out his words carefully, “that there wouldn’t be any room for jealousy?”

Zoey sighs. This is a big concern for her too. She’s not worried as much about herself as she is about them, though— she wouldn’t want them to be miserable and feel like they can’t voice it.

“I’m not sure,” she answers honestly. “But you know what I’m also scared of? Never trying. Because I really want to try with you guys.”

Simon and Max share a long look that measures a million things Zoey couldn’t begin to guess. Then, together, they look back over at her with so much heated affection, Zoey is seriously considering ditching at least one of her layers.

“We’re all into each other, like, a _lot,_ aren’t we?” Simon asks, and he doesn’t need an answer because they all know. “So let’s do it.”

They walk out of the café all bundled together like they’re trying to conserve body heat in the arctic. Zoey is sandwiched in the middle, and the nervous overheatedness has evaporated from her body; now the warmth is so pleasant and lovely. Both guys have an arm slung over her shoulders, and when she glances up, she finds Simon’s fingers playing with a loop of soft hair at the nape of Max’s neck.

For the car ride back to work, they all pile into the backseat, and none of them mind that it’s a tight fit. At the same time, both Simon and Max press an affectionate kiss on either of Zoey’s temples, and they both brush aside some of her hair to do so, and they both let their hands linger there, stroking the ginger waves. She has her left hand in Simon’s and her right hand in Max’s, and they’re all so close so suddenly but it’s exhilarating, and Zoey seriously likes the concept of _why pick one? Both are good. Both._

Eventually she feels the guys join hands behind her headrest, and some kisses go astray and trail down her neck. Zoey feels kind of bad for the poor driver witnessing this very public display of affection— “The Sound of Silence,” anyone?— but at the same time she really wishes they didn’t have to go back to work right this minute.

* * *

They reach an unspoken agreement, shared via several knowing glances, that they’ll meet at her apartment tonight. How funny that both of them have already showed up at her place unannounced numerous times, for movie nights and for consolation, but it’s the one time things are planned ahead when she’s the most anxious. 

Zoey lays in wait by her front door for what feels like several hours. She keeps her fidgeting self busy by constantly adjusting the “Everything’s Under CTRL” poster next to the door which never wants to sit right. It’s hilarious because things are definitely not under control. Or are they? Zoey, at least, is definitely not under control. She needs to be the boss of herself, damn it. She made a big step today. She should be proud of herself.

Simon and Max show up together, drenched in cologne, a button or two undone on their shirts, wearing jeans, hair sexily mussed just so, and buried in enormous bouquets like it’s Valentine’s Day. She’s hard-pressed to recall _any_ time when not one, but _two_ gorgeous men have ever materialized in her doorway wanting her, so she takes a minute to absorb the painfully tempting scene in front of her. (God, _imagine_ if Mo happened to peek across the hall right this second...)

“I, um,” Zoey gapes. “Wow. I... don’t have as much to offer, sorry. I have a pizza on the way and a few movies queued up, but... those will probably end up being background noise...” She feels both over and underdressed for this occasion, still wearing her work slacks. At least her sweater from earlier is long gone, leaving only the white blouse underneath, which she took the liberty to undo a bit at the top as well.

That’s when the slow tune starts, but Zoey doesn’t even tense up anymore because at this point, her power is like instinct to her. 

Max begins the heart song, sliding past her into the apartment and depositing the flowers in her unintentionally outstretched hands.

_With your loving, there ain’t nothing_

_That I can’t adore_

_The way I’m running, with you, honey_

_Means we can break every law_

_I find it funny that you’re the only_

_One I never looked for_

_There is something in your loving_

_That tears down my walls_

As he croons, he spins slowly around her while maintaining fond eye contact with Simon. Then Simon steps inside as well, taking all the flowers and tossing them gently in the air like batons, resulting in a light rain of petals down on them. Simon joins in,

_I wasn’t ready then, I’m ready now_

_I’m heading straight for you_

_You will only be eternally_

_The one that I belong to_

Now both of them combine their voices. They take Zoey and twirl her all around the apartment, leaving her pleasantly dizzy and not knowing whose hands are whose nor where she ends and they begin. 

_The sweetest devotion_

_Hitting me like an explosion_

_All of my life, I’ve been frozen_

_The sweetest devotion I’ve known_

_I’ll forever be whatever you want me to be_

_I’ll go under and all over for your clarity_

_When you wonder if I’m gonna lose my way home_

_Just remember, that come whatever, I’ll be yours all alone_

_I’ve been looking for you, baby_

_In every face that I’ve ever known_

_And there is something ‘bout the way you love me_

_That finally feels like home_

_You’re my light, you’re my darkness_

_You’re the right kind of madness_

_And you’re my hope, you’re my despair_

_You’re my scope, everything, everywhere_

_Sweetest_

_It’s the sweetest_

_Devotion_

As always, when the dance draws to a close, they end up right back where they started. Simon and Max retrieve their flowers and retreat back to stand in the doorway with those same smoldering looks which haven’t left their faces for a second. The piano fades away and Zoey is left breathless and feeling like she’s on the verge of tipsy. She’s not drunk in love with these boys yet, but she is getting dangerously close to it, and she _wants_ to dive in deeper.

“Zo,” Max chuckles. She’s almost forgotten what she said before all of... well, _that._ “What do you mean you don’t have much to offer?”

“Just yourself would be enough,” Simon adds. 

Face burning, Zoey lets them in, thanks them profusely for the flowers, and drops them in a vase rather feverishly. When the pizza arrives, they bring it to the living room and share slices right out of the box while _La La Land_ plays on the TV in front of them, because why shouldn’t she have even more spontaneous musical performances in her life?

It’s only when that movie ends and the next begins that it becomes background noise. For the second time today, Max takes Zoey by surprise and kisses her first. And as far as kissing someone new goes, this is pretty spectacular. Just as she imagined he might, he cups her cheeks in his big hands, stroking her jaw with his thumbs, kissing her slow and steady, taking the time to taste and feel her out. She responds in kind, savoring the way their noses brush, the pizza sauce framing his mouth, the smile she feels on his lips even with their eyes closed.

And then she’s making out with Simon, who’s waited patiently for her. Max’s eyes are searing hot on them, and Zoey buries her fingers in Simon’s curls, which she’s always dreamed of touching. Simon has a bit more hidden energy in his kiss, while his hands stay firmly in place at her hips. She groans at the scrape of his light stubble on her skin, at the way his breath tickles her face and somehow launches every cell in her body into overdrive.

The rest of the evening is spent with long, languid kisses, devouring glances, cold pizza, and ice cream eaten straight out of the carton with three, then two, then one shared spoon. Too soon, it’s past midnight and the credits for _Crazy, Stupid, Love_ are rolling on the screen. On either side of her, Simon and Max are asleep on the sofa. With a jolt, Zoey remembers that today was only a Monday, and that they’ll definitely roll into work tomorrow morning looking like lovestruck wrecks. But she also realizes that nobody at work really asks questions about anyone else, and that if anything is said about the three of them, it’ll be cheerful gossip spoken over scoops of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at the cereal bar. And then, perhaps, the most surprising realization of all: Zoey doesn’t care a whole lot about being sleep-deprived and what others will think.

So Zoey relishes in not caring (that much) for once, and leans her head back on the pillows. There’s a heavy head on either of her shoulders, and a hand clasped in both of hers. She closes her eyes and as she drifts off, one last satisfying thought occurs to her— she has two hands, one for Simon and one for Max, and that’s enough logic for her. Why not have both hands filled? It really is perfectly, beautifully, logical.


End file.
